Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Warnings: sexual content, pwp, threesome, and a certain amount of ambushing
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just playing again.
Summary: Can the Baker Street triangle work as a threesome? A study in logistics, amongst other things.
A/N: Sequel to 221b ficlet, Three Turn. http://fengirl88.livejournal.com/12021.html . A slightly different 'verse from my long!angsty!fics, where this sort of thing would be impossible.
Thanks again to ginbitch for invaluable beta reading.
[*Triple Jump = (a) a move in figure skating involving three complete rotations before landing. Can be done in various combinations and with varying degrees of difficulty. (b) in sexual matters, slang for a threesome. (I may have made that second definition up.)]
Sherlock's running this show, he always is, Lestrade thinks. So it's only a little surprising when Lestrade finds that apparently he and Watson are up first and Sherlock is going to watch. Probably amuses him to see the two who've been so jealous of each other for so long – with more than adequate reason – having to get it on with each other instead. This is going to be bloody awkward but it's too late to back out now. Should have thought of that before he agreed to a threesome in 221b Baker Street.
Not that thinking really comes into it that much if sex with Sherlock is part of the deal.
Lestrade takes the initiative – well, somebody's got to, otherwise Sherlock will start getting bored and decide to interfere in some as yet unimagined way which will somehow manage to make this whole situation more bloody embarrassing than it already is. So Lestrade puts his hand on the side of John's neck and pulls him in close for a kiss.
There's a muddle while they try to work out who's on top, so to speak – going to be a lot of that before we're done, Lestrade thinks, trying not to laugh into John's mouth – but eventually they settle into a surprisingly warm and pliant kiss, with Lestrade's hand moving round to caress the nape of John's neck. John's hands grip Lestrade's shoulders. Good, something's working then, Lestrade thinks, flicking his tongue quickly against John's lips. Little whimper from John, unexpected but gratifying. Opens his mouth for more, too. Mmm.
And actually this is very nice now. Lestrade loves kissing and never feels he gets enough of it, certainly doesn't get enough of it with Sherlock who is always impatiently rushing on to the next big thing. So it's something of a luxury, finally kissing someone who apparently likes it every bit as much as he does. Wouldn't mind going on doing this for the foreseeable future, Lestrade thinks, feeling the pleasantly-verging-on-uncomfortable tightness of his trousers against his erection. He caresses John's arse with his free hand, pulls him closer and pushes his hips against John's, feels the answering pressure there. Runs the hand that's on John's neck down to that spot between the shoulder-blades, making John arch unexpectedly so that the kiss jolts uncomfortably close to a bite.
Really getting into it now, Lestrade thinks. He'd never have thought JW (John, he corrects himself, can't go on being childishly jealous of someone you're currently snogging and thinking it would be very nice to fuck really quite soon, just stupid holding a grudge in the circumstances) – never would have thought John had it in him.
Just goes to show how wrong you can be.
Because John's actually very keen, as it turns out, nearly as keen as the drugs bust squad, don't think about the drugs bust, Lestrade, for fuck's sake, not right now. Good with his hands, too, surprisingly good. Lestrade is already shirtless though he's hardly managed to get half way through unbuttoning JW, John, who is unbuttoning and unzipping Lestrade and running his fingers over the bulge in Lestrade's boxers with obvious intent. Lestrade catches his breath and his hands jerk clumsily as he tries to undo John's shirt, sending a button pinging across the room. John sighs resignedly – Lestrade gets the feeling this probably happens to John's shirts quite a lot with Sherlock around.
But the resigned sigh doesn't break John's focus for long, and Lestrade is naked before he quite knows where he is, which makes him feel a bit shy but fortunately doesn't interfere with his erection. John takes hold and starts stroking him till Lestrade has to stop what he's trying to do with John's clothes and hold on tight because his legs are about to give way. As John clearly recognizes, because he pushes Lestrade back onto the bed and clambers on top of him, kissing Lestrade in all the right places and groping his cock with a mixture of skill and enthusiasm that makes Lestrade's head swim.
Sherlock must still be watching, though he hasn't moved. Hasn't said anything either, which is really not like him, Lestrade thinks worriedly. But he can't focus on that, because John is turning out to be seriously bloody good with his mouth as well. Lestrade is not going to last very long at all at this rate -
“Fucking hell!” Lestrade yelps. Sherlock has obviously got bored with just watching. Or possibly jealous, Lestrade thinks, feeling Sherlock's slippery fingers pushing into him – oh god. Never even saw him get the lube out, suppose he must have done that while John -
Easier said than done. Attacked front and back, John's clever eager mouth and Sherlock's relentlessly probing fingers driving him on, Lestrade falls apart comprehensively, comes gasping and crying out, and temporarily loses any sense of himself or his surroundings.
He's brought back to himself when Sherlock withdraws, not terribly carefully.
Barely pausing for breath, Sherlock moves in purposefully on John, who has rolled away from Lestrade and is propped up on his elbow. Kisses John hard and greedily. Makes Lestrade feel rather odd, seeing that. Not least because he feels weirdly implicated in the kiss, given what John was doing with his mouth not long before.
Lestrade gets the feeling that Sherlock is doing this at him. Looks like he didn't enjoy watching Lestrade and John as much as he'd expected, so he's making sure Lestrade remembers who's on the home team and who's just visiting. Judging by his mutterings, Sherlock's also pissed off with John for having finished Lestrade off too soon – though it's not as if it was only John's doing. Lestrade feels dizzy again thinking about what Sherlock obviously had in mind if he hadn't come when he did. Christ knows how he was supposed to hold out longer, though, with all that going on.
Sherlock's hands are busy, and John loses the rest of his clothes pretty quickly, though he's not backward in coming forward to undress Sherlock. Before long, the two of them are grappling, naked and fully hard. Lestrade feels a bit spoilt for choice about where to look, and a bit feeble for not yet having the energy to do more than look. Plus, watching two people at it who so clearly know every inch of each other's bodies is always going to be pretty fucking strange, he supposes. Even if they've both just made you come like a steam train. Perhaps especially then. He also feels a bit awkward because he doesn't quite know the rules for this sort of thing, but decides on balance that since he and John were given a clear field to start with perhaps he shouldn't weigh in just yet.
Predictably enough, Sherlock is making the running, and John is getting very worked up now, groaning and swearing as Sherlock tugs at his cock, licks his neck and bites his shoulder. In between licking and biting John, Sherlock keeps up a stream of filthy talk which rather surprises Lestrade, since this hasn't been part of Sherlock's repertoire in his experience. If Lestrade were fifteen years younger he'd be getting another erection from the cumulative effect of want all of me in you, fuck you so hard and make you come like you've never come before. Lestrade's twitching as it is, which at his age is hardly to be expected.
John seems pretty close to the edge, clenching his fists and shuddering, when Sherlock stops moving his hand and says fiercely “Tell me you want me, John.”
“I want you,” John groans.
“Say you're desperate.”
“Shit, Sherlock, you know I am -”
“OK, OK, I'm desperate, Sherlock, now for Christ's sake -”
“Say you're mine and no one else's,” Sherlock growls.
Sherlock gives a twist of his fingers that makes John gasp, but again John says “No.”
“You're not coming till you say it,” Sherlock insists.
“We've been – over this,” John forces out, panting. “And – in case you – haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a – threesome.”
Lestrade is starting to feel a bit tired. This could all go on for quite some time without reaching any kind of resolution. OK, John is desperate to come but he's also bloody stubborn, as Lestrade has good reason to know. It's impressive that he's as stubborn in bed as out of it, given what he's up against here, but it's not surprising.
Time for Lestrade to take a hand or they'll be here all night.
Make that two hands, on reflection, because one isn't going to be enough.
Lestrade retrieves the lube – which Sherlock obviously dropped on the floor because tidiness really isn't one of his virtues – and gets his hands suitably slippery for the task. Sherlock and John are too busy still playing out their little power struggle to notice what he's up to. So Lestrade is able to take them by surprise, leaning over to grasp both their cocks and pump them together. It's quite a handful, even for a two-hand job, and although Lestrade's done this occasionally when his was one of the cocks involved, he hasn't done it quite like this before. Still, always good to broaden your horizons.
With a shout of surprise, John comes quickly, and Lestrade uses the added lubrication of that to bring Sherlock off, which happens pretty soon afterwards.
John is still collapsed and panting for breath when Sherlock starts complaining that Lestrade has spoiled things and that wasn't how it was supposed to be.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade says, “it's not actually a triangle unless all three sides touch each other somewhere.”
Sherlock goes on grumbling and muttering things including fucking smart-alec know-all, sod bloody Euclid, interfering prick and stupid idea in the first place.
“Your stupid idea in the first place,” Lestrade says, nuzzling the back of Sherlock's neck in an attempt to distract him.
An attempt which succeeds beyond his expectations, because Sherlock collapses giggling and saying “Don't”.
“Is he always that ticklish there?” Lestrade asks John.
John has just about recovered enough to speak again, though not very coherently. But if Lestrade understands him right, he's saying that Sherlock is indeed very ticklish, there and elsewhere, and especially right after he's come.
Lestrade attacks the back of Sherlock's neck again, with even better results this time. Which seems to inspire John to complete his recovery and join in the fun.
The next ten minutes are really not what Sherlock had in mind, though very satisfactory for Lestrade and John who both have some scores to settle with him. John already knows various other sure-fire places where Sherlock is ticklish, and Lestrade's detective abilities are easily up to the task of finding several more. The soundtrack to all this, if 221b Baker Street was bugged – which please god let it not be even though Lestrade wouldn't put it past Mycroft for a moment – starts with hysterical giggling and feeble exclamations of Don't and Stop it, and moves through pleas for mercy, some pretty colourful and inventive swearing, and then into renewed groaning as Sherlock's arousal takes hold again.
Turns out this stuff is good for more than giggles. Who knew? Well, John, for one, Lestrade thinks, who has the look of having been round this particular course a fair few times before.
Sherlock is begging again now, but differently, and shortly thereafter is issuing furious instructions to John, who is busily engaged in sucking Sherlock's cock, and to Lestrade, who finds himself unexpectedly equipped for a second go and takes Sherlock from behind. It's not long before Sherlock's frantic just there and harder, goddamnit give way to cries and exclamations and finally a yell. After which even Sherlock has to shut up for a bit.
Amazing what a bit of co-operation can achieve. Lestrade's said so time and again to his team at the Yard.
Hadn't really had this sort of thing in mind though.
It's all pretty crowded as they settle down for the night, what with Sherlock's habit of sprawling diagonally right across the bed, not to mention clinging on possessively to any warm bodies in the vicinity. Lestrade wonders how they'll get any sleep, though he can feel he's close to dropping off after his exertions.
“If we're going to make a habit of this, you two are going to need to buy a much larger bed,” Lestrade says drowsily.
For once, Sherlock doesn't seem disposed to argue the toss.
They lie there in a tangle of heavy limbs and seriously messed-up sheets. Lestrade's last thought before he falls asleep is that he has never been anywhere that smelt so much or so wonderfully of sex. Whatever the logistics of the triple jump – and god knows it won't be easy – on this showing it's definitely worth a repeat performance.